


Suck my %@$^!#

by saderaladon



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Dysfunction, Stuff I will elaborate on in the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22572514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon
Summary: John gets down on his knees and sucks his %@$^!#.
Relationships: John 5/Tim Sköld
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	Suck my %@$^!#

**Author's Note:**

> Alright.
> 
> I might say that this - http://vev.ru/uploads/images/00/04/22/2011/07/24/54_original.jpg - picture in HD is to blame for this or that this all is the fault of the shark bastard who lives in my brain and sponsored me writing this, but, to be honest with you guys, this one is probably on me personally. I mean, not everybody who looked at that picture thought what I thought and it is my brain that generates all this... Whatever this is.
> 
> Anyway, I ain't sorry for a single word I wrote. :D
> 
> The story's not connected to anything previously written or translated by me.
> 
> To address the tags: there're some other things described in the text apart from the oral sex, but all of them in moderate amounts and in a way that... Well, if you are looking for those things, then you should probably go find another fic, because this one is about something else. Then again, if you want to avoid those things, then they are there and here is your warning.
> 
> There is some verbal humiliation (but not really), words like "slut" and "whore" are uttered by a certain person, there's come on another person's face, there is some dirty talk and also some very mild %@$^!# torture. :D
> 
> Enjoy. :)
> 
> As usual, I welcome humiliation aimed at my grammar and not a single thing belongs to me.

John thinks there is nobody in the bus.

Tim thinks it's not even midnight yet and he simply must get up and go out, if he wants to keep his self-respect intact.

What happens in reality is that Tim found pills under the blanket on Pogo's bunk, pills that have a sedative effect, though he is not entirely aware of that, but Pogo might be, that he then took them, that he topped them with some beer after that, but not a lot of beer, but that's not because mixing alcohol and tranquillizers isn't exactly safe, though he's aware of that, that is because he mixed tranquillizers with some alcohol and now he's too lazy to take another bottle out of the fridge, not to mention getting up and going out of the bus.

The only thing he's willing to engage in and capable of doing at the moment is sluggish smoking.

The only thing John wants to engage in and is very capable of doing is playing his guitar. Not even the thick fog of smoke produced by Tim can deter him now. But it does slow him down somewhat.

So the way it all happens is that they happen to be together in the bus, when it is not yet midnight, but it is close to midnight, and it is not yet Saturday, it is still Friday, and things progress with steady swings of the pendulum of time, though there are, of course, no pendulums there in the bus.

It is a _bus._

John says _hey_ to Tim, Tim also grunts out a greeting, _I'm buzzed_ , he then adds, smiling, waving his hand with a cigarette in it in the air, in John's general direction, very little signs of brain matter being present inside his skull visible both in his smile and in his movement, _I wanna play_ , John then informs him, _no, I don't mind_ , he says a few seconds later, when Tim asks him if he minds that he's smoking here, John is already at rearranging things on and around his bunk, busying his anxious hands, because, a little truth to be told, he does mind, just a bit, but he does mind, and he hopes that Tim will leave, so John's reply to him is just a polite, white lie.

John's not entirely opposed to them.

Another little truth — Tim also hopes he'll leave. It's fucking Friday, he shouldn't be sitting in the bus doing fuck knows what, he simply must get up and go out, there're no pendulums outside the bus, there're some people that he should meet, he doesn't know them yet or he might know them, just some other people who're buzzed and are aware it is Friday, some pleasant, sexy, good-looking and easygoing people, who are capable of having and are willing to engage in some pleasant, sexy, laid-back Friday fun.

Then, a bit later — John's still not playing, still wandering around his own bunk and the bus in circles — Tim realizes there is John.

Tim realizes John is sexy and good-looking, pleasant, a bit hard to please from time to time and seriously obsessed with his guitars, but generally nice, polite and almost always flirty, with most other people and with Tim, John's wearing make up, eye-shadow, mascara, John's wearing a close-fitting black choker around his neck and also there is a pair of close-fitting jeans showing off his butt quite favorably hugging his butt tight.

That thought has crossed his mind before.

Though this time he can't get all the credit, he had some help. He realized there was John, because John'd been flirting.

And John, John is not opposed to flirting.

Okay, if words are to be said about John, John is opposed to smoke, he doesn't like it, neither generally, nor right now, he doesn't like the smell and also, also he wants to play and he kind of doesn't want to play with this sluggish figure sitting there in the bus with him, all heavy eyelids and legs spread wide and a button-up shirt that is almost entirely unbuttoned, hanging loose from the laid-back shoulders of the sluggish figure, and it's not that he minds the owner of everything that's now mentioned, he's okay with Tim, it's just this isn't the kind of tune he wants to play tonight, this is the very opposite and Tim is not inspiring, Tim is distracting.

Tim is distracting in more than one way.

And what is meant by that, if it also needs clarification, is that Tim looks kind of hot.

John thinks that while wandering around the bus in circles, glancing at Tim and his unbuttoned button-up shirt through the thick fog of smoke he is creating, at his legs spread wide and at his heavy boots and even at his heavy eyelids and most often at Tim's chest that he is showing off.

Okay, maybe, probably, he isn't showing it off on purpose, after all, that — chest bare, shirt unbuttoned, jeans looking tighter than they are on his legs spread wide, muscles looking tight as well — that is how John's found him in the bus sitting in the middle of the smelly cloud and, judging by the cloud, that state of things was not a new development, though John does not make this judgement, he just figures that Tim isn't trying to look especially attractive to him, he just is, and also no one can stop him from looking at people who are hot.

So what is meant by that is that John thinks that Tim is hot and flirts with him while wandering around the bus and politely waiting for him to get up and go out and leave and let him play.

Tim also thinks he's hot.

Alright, he doesn't think he's particularly hot right now, he would be hotter if he got up and then went out and flirted with good-looking people too, now he's just lazy and relaxed and not at his sexiest, but he is, he's hot and easy-going and John seems to be attracted to him, oh, come on, he's definitely attracted to him, so they are in agreement, even though Tim seems to have somewhat higher standards when assessing his own level of attractiveness, so what Tim figures is that John's an audience.

He isn't showing anything off, of course.

He's just sitting there with his chest half bare, sliding further down with every swing of the non present pendulum, legs spread so wide it might be an attempt to annex Liechtenstein or Andorra or even Switzerland, but that seems — that is — to be exactly what John finds hot about him, so Tim sits there still, holding his position, being pleasant.

John is hard to please sometimes, but this is easy.

A short while later — in reality it is twelve minutes after John found Tim sitting there in the bus, which is indeed a rather brief time period, but who said they needed it to be any longer, after all, they both are casual and comfortable around each other and this nonchalant flirting is nothing new to either one of them — Tim asks John a question.

It happens after John shoots Tim another glance that lands precisely on his half naked chest and smiles teasingly at him, half turned to him, so that both his butt and his mouth are visible to Tim.

"Do you have any plans for the evening?" is what Tim asks him.

And sure, John has already told him that he wants to play, but they both know better, they are both aware that this is not what Tim is asking him, they've spent the last nine minutes playing provocation tennis, and neither of them cares that they've spent nine minutes doing that and neither of them knows, they both're thinking of something else, and that is why John doesn't tell Tim that he wants to play, though, surely, John could've told Tim that again, that is why John doesn't.

John shrugs coquettishly instead.

"Not really," he says. "And what do you have in mind?"

The things they both have in their minds are generally similar, they are not identical, but also not diametrically opposed.

The two of them are pretty synchronized.

Of course, there is always room for tuning, but that is discovered later, what happens now is that Tim smiles with the left corner of his mouth and beckons John to come closer to him with his finger.

"It's a bit of a secret," he says, a sexy, low drawl naturally appearing in his voice. "Come here, I'll whisper it in your ear."

Of course, Tim doesn't whisper anything when John comes closer and sits down — also coquettishly — next to him.

He just licks John's ear.

Then he smiles at John, John smiles at him, gets up, smooth and sexy, sits down again, sits in his lap, licks both his ears and then his own lips, looking at Tim. What John does is he replaces the tennis ball they have been throwing at each other with one that is used in baseball or in polo, and they keep enlarging the round objects after that, upping their game.

They kiss after they are both done with earlicking, Tim plays this more aggresively, though what he is doing in reality, in actuality, is giving way and he's aware of that — John's not — he's doing that on purpose, that's what his opponent, partner, seems to require of him, fuck it, definitely wants from him, John quickly deals with Tim's almost unbuttoned shirt, unbuttoning it entirely and pulling it off Tim's shoulders, Tim momentarily trapped in it, while John is caught up in admiring his muscles, but quickly freed of it and John is too, Tim puts his hands under his T-shirt, admiring everything he finds there, first only to the touch, then visually, helping John to pull it off himself without interfering with the style John is executing this move of his with, John pulls at his nipple-ring with dare in his eyes, because Tim also rubbed at his nipples and pinched them slightly, when already seeing colorful patterns surrounding them and earlier than that, which John found alluring just like Tim finds tempation in his eyes appealing.

Maybe not quite _just_ like it, but comparable nevertheless.

Tim tugs at John's black, close-fitting choker after John acknowledges the presence of a ring in his right nipple, making it more loose for brief seconds, John lolls his head back, offering his throat, seductively licking his lower lip, then, when Tim addresses that, Tim's fingers.

Tim tugs at John's belt, and John gets up and removes the close-fitting jeans off his body altogether, though not right away, first he makes Tim play the role of the audience, peeling the stretchy fabric off his legs with certain chic, taking his time, Tim reacting accordingly, moving his lips with a whistle serving as a cheer, John waving his hand at him with a touch of dismissal in his motion and with giggling on his lips.

John's lips pretty soon end up around Tim's cock.

John kneels between Tim's legs spread wide, pulls at his belt, Tim tries to help him, John says _let me_ , that sounds positively obscene, Tim shows John his palms, John breathes out air with some laughter at him, he unzips his pants and pulls him out.

Tim isn't hard.

Now, this isn't a eureka moment and nobody's shouting _bingo_ either, they aren't playing bingo and nobody's shouting at all, this isn't special in itself, Tim not being hard — okay, he's hard a bit, he's not completely limp, but this is not the stage of erection John was expecting to see his cock at, if he gave thought to that, this stage of erection he probably expects of people when they simply see him, within first ten seconds, but things are what they are — and they are not in any way extraordinary.

After all, there are billions of people on Earth who aren't hard at any given point in time.

Yet, Tim being one of them is noteworthy, not because it is a miracle or a catastrophe that would no doubt make the news, but because before John makes his small discovery — you be the judge if pun's intended or just not avoided — what happens in the bus is straight-forward.

Tim not being hard is a deviation.

John... John doesn't frown when he sees the stage of Tim's erection, almost non existent as that pendulum that isn't there either, of course, he doesn't, he's polite, he might've pursed his lips a little, couldn't help it, and he'll definitely remember that, which he doesn't suspect about himself, but which Tim does, though not at the moment, John doesn't show his... what is it, disappointment? Something along those lines.

Frustration, maybe.

John doesn't show it, and what he thinks is that Tim has taken drugs and that they are on tour and that it is not a big deal — again, you make this call yourself, but this time, most likely, there's no pun — he thinks that and settles on improving the current situation in his hand and puts his lips around Tim's limp cock with determination.

While John thinks that and while he sucks Tim Tim himself isn't pondering about the reasons for such a state of things, which is no wonder.

Come on, John's sucking him.

What Tim thinks about is not what, it's who, it's John, Tim thinks of him, and those might not be what we usually call thoughts, it's not a conscious narrative that can be written down using words as inner monologue, it's Tim noticing John's eyes and warmth in them, reacting to it, seeing them in a brighter color than they are, in a brighter color than his retina receives the image through reflection, Tim thinks about the way John looks with his cock between his lips and that, that he thinks with his cock, not literally, sure, but yeah, he does, and also he thinks that John looks good, looks good on his knees with his cock between his lips, looks good in a very specific way, very akin to the image John presents as when he's on stage, not with a cock between his lips — Tim wouldn't mind looking at that either — but with one of his guitars in his hands, and this thought is also an image, a flash of mental visuals that get replaced one with another a few times inside Tim's mind.

There's also a visual that he constructs being more self-aware of John being fucked, and that's an awesome one.

And in that picture John looks like there is a guitar in both his hands.

What occupies Tim's head most of all is John's tongue.

Which also shouldn't be surprising, because John's sucking him and that feels amazing, John is amazing and so is his tongue.

As for John, he mostly thinks that Tim still isn't hard.

This isn't all there is to what is going on inside his brain, were he put in the MRI machine right now — he'd have to let go of that cock, of course — brain scientists would have a good time studying his grey matter and his white matter and his amygdala, but there is no MRI machine in the tour bus and there're no scientists, which is for the better, probably, because that would've been another mess entirely, and thus what John thinks that is going to be described or even simply mentioned here is that Tim is still not hard.

Apart from thinking John does amazing things with his tongue, making efforts, which he usually enjoys — not so much at the moment — and he also looks good while making them, he looks up at Tim, in Tim's hooded eyes with his own hooded eyes, a touch of tropical heat in them, a touch of erotic theater, a touch of satisfaction with himself, all of that quite sultry, he looks great and he does amazing things, but Tim is still not hard and it isn't even funny.

John stops, he straigtens up and breathes out his frustration, he looks up at Tim, looks at him with pursed lips.

"What is the matter?" he asks, raising his voice just a little, which is also a natural occurence. "Is this some kind of a joke?"

Tim gets yanked into the place he has abandoned and he's dizzy.

"Huh?" he asks. "What this?"

"This," John says and points at his cock.

"This is my cock," Tim says.

He's dizzy, but he's aware. After all, it is his cock.

Not that John doesn't know that.

"I can see that. It isn't hard."

John has a really, really interesting amygdala.

"Yeah, it isn't, I guess," Tim says, shrugging. "According to conventional standards. In my case this is pretty hard."

"It's barely hard," John responds. "And I was sucking you."

Indeed, he was.

"I know," Tim says.

Sucking him is also what he wishes John was doing now.

What John wishes Tim was doing is quitting with this annoying travesty, and travesty is not a word that is in his conscious mind or on his tongue, it is a burst of chemicals inside his intriguing brain.

"And you aren't hard," is what on John's tongue and what is leaving it.

"I'm not."

John sighs and lifts his hand, covering his eyes briefly.

"So what's the matter?" he asks. "Why aren't you?" he makes a pause. "What, am I not good enough?"

That's also a burst.

Tim doesn't burst in laughter at the phrase and at the peculiarity of John's tone, but he can't suppress the chuckle that's forming in his throat at the incredulity that colors John's indignant face.

"No," Tim says. "You're fucking awesome. I'm not hard because I don't get hard."

"What do you mean?" John asks.

That's not really a question. That's more like a tennis ball he throws at Tim, aiming at his forehead.

Tim exhales.

"I mean I don't get fucking hard. It's not about you. You were great. I just don't get hard. You can give me those magazines with busty blondes and oily jocks you buy on a commercial scale, if you're in doubt, and I'll prove to you no porn star is going to make my cock harder than you already have."

John is enough of a porn star on his own.

John loses another layer of his patience.

"Why?" he says. "What are you even saying?"

"Jesus," Tim says. He isn't irritated, he's just... What's there to explain about a cock being limp when that cock was being limp right in John's fucking mouth. "I'm saying I don't get hard. I have erectile fucking dysfunction."

That, that would be another turn in pace and in space.

John stops dead.

Alright, not dead, but, like, knocked out.

"Oh," he says.

The thing is, he was not expecting this.

Originally, he thought he'd play.

"Like..." he says. "Do you mean..."

"Like my cock doesn't get hard," Tim explains the obvious to him.

"At all?"

"Well," Tim says, spreading his arms, nodding at the topic of their discussion swinging adroop between his thighs.

"Ah," John says, glancing at Tim's limp cock as well. "Was it... Was it always like that?"

"Of course not," Tim snorts. "It's erectile dysfunction. It's not a congenital disorder."

"So..." John says slowly. "So you used to get hard before."

"Yeah."

"Uh," John says. He's not sure he should ask this. Tim is right about him, he is polite and pleasant and generally nice. "And how long... How long has it been li—"

Tim shrugs.

"Donno," he says. "Five years. Six. I mean, it's gradual. It's been this flaccid sack for the last three, I guess. This is the hardest I ever get."

"Oh," John says, staring at Tim's _flaccid sack_.

Staring's impolite.

John is aware.

Acutely.

It's just he isn't sure he can look at Tim's face.

Though, of course, he can.

There is nothing out of the order on _Tim's_ face.

"Then how do you..." John says.

"What?"

"How do you have sex?"

This, this changes the state of things on Tim's face, because Tim laughs out loud.

He might be pleasant, easy-going, even nice from time to time, but generally he is kind of rude.

"Dude," he says. "I have erectile dysfunction. I'm not dead." John bites his lower lip. "I really appreciated what you were doing down there."

"Oh," John says. He wouldn't let those non present scientists anywhere near his brain. He glances up. "You did?"

"Yeah," Tim says. "You've got a great mouth." John's right on time for that. "So like... If you still feel like continuing..."

There is a pause. John lingers.

"No?" Tim asks.

"No, I want to," John says. He also doesn't want to offend Tim, but mainly he wants to have sex with Tim. Tim's hot. "You're hot." Tim smiles with a corner of his mouth, accepting the pass. "I just..." John says. He wants to be precise not only with his tunes. "I prefer my parters to be more... More... Active?"

With that honed statement there is another change in the course of the events.

With that statement John looks pointedly at Tim.

Tim's not a fool.

"Ah," Tim smirks.

Tim smirks and puts his thumb on John's lower lip and pulls at it, breaching John's mouth with an emphatic gaze of his own that is a good match to that of John's.

"I don't need my cock to be hard to have my way with you," Tim says, pulling at John's cheek, baring John's teeth.

Both his careful choice of words and his congenital phonetical ability are to his benefit.

Both these things make _John's_ cock hard.

"Whore," Tim says.

They play the staring match.

The pendulum swings, measuring dimensions.

Tim puffs out air with a chuckle and tilts his head.

He is not dead set on always winning.

"What?" he asks, letting go of John for a moment. "Did I miss?"

John licks his lips now that they are free.

John puffs out air with a chuckle.

"No," he shakes his head, smiling, radiant. "No, you didn't."

Tim beams with his smirk too.

"Okay then," he says. "Let's get back to it?"

If this needs to be said at all, because it might not need to be, because it's rather obvious, but if it does, then after Tim says what he says they do get back to it, though there're amendments, Tim is not so languid now, and it is not only drugs that are cruising in his system wearing off, it's also about him making a certain promise, so Tim is very... _active._

Tim shoves his limp cock in John's open mouth, all the way back to his throat, shoves it in while holding John's mouth open with his thumbs, he drags his limp cock over John's face, smearing his eyeshadow and mascara that soon start running, John himself rubs his face into Tim's limp cock too and sucks his balls, rolling them on his amazing tongue, John takes them out, bites his lips and looks at Tim.

"Cockslut," Tim says, smirking at him. John blushes, giggles, his eyelashes flutter. "Come on, suck my sagging hammock."

Tim grabs John by his hair, and his cock is back in John's extraordinary — it kind of really is — mouth.

"Take it all in," Tim says, John does, and it... Well, it fits. John's mouth's full all the way back to his throat and his nose is almost touching Tim's stomach, his tongue moving over his balls, his cock, the whole... "Suck this leather pouch."

Were John not so full of Tim's genitalia he would start to suspect that Tim's enjoying this.

Not the blowjob.

Well, of course, the blowjob too, Tim is enjoying that, Tim feels great, looks at John's running make up, at how he gags, at two obsceneties of his brown eyes, what Tim enjoys especially, what Tim simply loves is John's tongue that is moving, John's wet lips, John's soft and John's hard palate, John's whole, John's amazing fucking mouth.

But also. Also he's enjoying that other thing.

He is.

And were John not so busy sucking Tim's sagging hammock, he would, most likely, notice that.

But John is busy. John's busy enjoying other things, though, again, they aren't so different from what Tim's enjoying.

It's what Tim says.

"Fuck," Tim says, pulling John's fucked face off his thoroughly canoodled crotch. "Look at yourself. I should buy a huge fucking dildo and bend you in a public toilet and just rail you, shouldn't I? That's all you want. Huge cocks in your loose, dirty holes. That's what you are."

John coughs a bit, choking, licking his lips.

John giggles, blushes, his mascara running, his eyelashes flutter.

"Yeah," he says, looking up at Tim.

Objectively speaking, John must be X-rated.

"I'll get you a horse cock," Tim promises again, upfront, he's candid. "You filthy fairy freak." Tim moves his leg, squeezes his boot between John's knees, presses it into John's cock. "Come on, jerk off already. Slut."

John rides his boot as if it were a horse for a few seconds, smooth, sexy, a fucking porn star.

Tim mops his thoroughly canoodled crotch with John's wet hot open mouth, with John's whole banned content of a face, he fucks John's face on his cock he doesn't need to be hard to fuck John's face.

"Stick your fucking tongue out," Tim says. "You're gonna come with my limp sack in your cocksucking mouth."

Tim is correct.

John comes with Tim's genitalia relaxing on his tongue, basking in saliva, John comes looking up at Tim, looking good, hot, sexy, looking like a work of art.

Of course, John's climax also brings about the next shift in phases of development.

Tim, on the other hand, brings John water.

Tim helps John up and brings him water, Tim drinks too, Tim smokes.

John's relaxing next to him, basking, John glances at him.

"Do you want..." he starts. "Like..."

John's shooting arrows with his eyes again.

Tim chuckles softly.

"Oh," he says. "You want to do something for me? Sweet."

John manages to stop himself from elbowing him.

"Of course," he says, narrowing his eyes at him. "Who do you think I am?"

"A gaudy size-princess with eighty six guitars?" Tim offers, blowing the smoke out.

John elbows him, John laughs, John shakes his head.

"No, seriously," he says. "Do you want anything? I'll do it. I mean, you can come, can't you?"

Tim nods, putting out his cigarette.

"Sure," he says. "It's _erectile_ dysfunction. Not a fucking curse."

John snorts, frowns a little.

"Okay. I just..."

"Yeah?"

"I just don't..."

"Don't know what to do?"

John sighs, purses his lips, speads his arms, looks at Tim's completely flaccid cock, at Tim's grinning face.

"This is a first for me."

"Got it," Tim says. "Alright. I'll show you the way."

"Don't you want me to do that?" John asks.

He's pointedly observing two of Tim's somewhat dry fingers digging the way Tim's showing him inside Tim's ass, Tim's jeans off, hanging off the chair, Tim's legs spread, right foot on the bunk, Tim half-lying, fully naked, very hot.

"No offence," Tim pants out. The way is clear before him. "But your nimble fingers are too pampered. You probably get fancy manicures and everything. It won't do it for me. You are not the only one who needs a bit of rough."

John laughs, looks at Tim's crude fingers thrusting in, at Tim's hips moving, at Tim saying _ah_ and _fuck_ and finding that bit of rough he needs, at Tim having his way with himself.

Though these are not the terms John thinks about this in.

John thinks Tim can't get hard, Tim's not hard, still not hard, Tim is very, very, seriously hot.

"Okay," he says. "Then what should I do?"

"Tune the equipment?" Tim says, nodding the direction to him. "Play my saggy sack?"

This time John notices.

John's _looking_. Because Tim's seriously hot.

"Like this?" John asks, trying a few licks on Tim's cock with his nimble fingers.

"Yeah, like this," Tim says, and his hand joins John's briefly. "Or like that." That... That is _shredding._ "Like, you know, any way you want."

Tim shows him a few tricks.

John bites his lips, staring with his eyes wide.

John's face looks like those of his audience usually do.

"That..." he says, glancing at Tim's face. "Doesn't that hurt?"

And that, and that, and that thing too.

Tim simply grins.

John studies his happily bared teeth, John laughs and shakes his head.

"Okay," he says.

John says _okay_ and then, which probably goes without saying, then Tim fucks himself on his somewhat dry fingers, rough, not smooth, but sexy, sharp, using them as hooks, and John tugs at Tim's _skinbag_ that has so many names that Tim keeps uttering through gritted teeth, grinding down, staring at his dangling cock with so many feelings that would arouse curiousity of those scientists that neither of them is and maybe, quite possible, arouse those scientists as well, glancing at John, exhaling in bursts of low sounds and air, throwing his head back, while John rumples, crumples, crushes his genitalia like a warm, soft, squashy wad of playdough.

While John thinks that if Tim isn't banned yet, then he simply must be and right away, because that is...

That is already banned.

Both of them are.

"Fuck," Tim grits out. "Come on. Fuck me too."

He grabs at John's free hand, licks his fingers quickly, shoves them in along his own.

Maybe, Tim should be fucking killed.

John fucks Tim... Well, no.

Tim fucks himself on John's fingers too.

"Fuck," John says.

Tim smiles.

Tim is _hot._

John gnaws at his lips and Tim shoots cannonballs at him.

"Do you want my mouth?" John asks.

Maybe, John should be fucking killed too.

"Hell yeah," Tim growls. "Give me your filthy tongue."

So the end is Tim's climax, and Tim comes on John's tongue John sticks out, clenching his fist around Tim's limp cock, the tip sliding up and down over his tongue, Tim comes clenching on John's and his own fingers he forced inside himself, Tim comes on John's face too, because duh, he's jumping there like a pendulum that went haywire, his cock flying up and down like an oscillator made of flesh.

Though this is not what Tim calls it.

Also, this is not yet the end.

"Fuck," Tim smirks, wiping the come off John's face. What's left of it. Because John... John definitely should be killed. "I could fucking bet you're into come from day one."

John laughs and sticks his tongue out at him.

"Yeah, so?" he says. "You're weirder anyway. _Sagging hammock._ "

Tim chuckles too and spreads his arms and shrugs.

This isn't really the end either.

No way this is the end.

__________________________________________________


End file.
